


The Vault Hunters Among Us

by Voidromeda



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M, Murder Mystery, Other, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 09:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19270396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidromeda/pseuds/Voidromeda
Summary: Lynchwood isn't the best to live in - humes and guardians struggle to co-exist, especially when guardians are trying their hardest to hide away what they really are. Jack is the only sheriff, the one who operates both in and out of the law, and he finds him spiraling further and further into depression. With Angel and Rhys trying to help him, things don't seem to be going well.Things only get worse when a series of murders occur, coupling with an illegal glamours trade going on, and Jack just wants a break.[The Wolf Among Us AU]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Uploaded for archival purposes.  
> Unfinished.  
> Written 2016, barely fixed up 2019.

He lets his head fall back against his armchair, his entire body groaning and aching with the feeling of _bad bad bad sleep_ and Jack rubs at his shoulders. His eyes flutter open finally, and he sighs as he takes in the ugly ass interior of his government-issued flat.

From a small distance away, he can hear his fucking phone beeping and Jack has to keep from standing up and slamming his head into the wall repeatedly. It is the most innocuous sound, but it chooses _now_ of all times to indicate that he has some messages? Bleary, red eyed and tired, Jack finally gets off of his armchair and nearly stumbles and falls onto his face.

“Ugh.” He groans, his clothes sticking to his body far too much for his liking, and he pinches his nose. The stench of Guardian blood hits his nose and he drags his fingers down his face; really, it does nothing more than smear and spread more blood on his face. He wanders around the dingy flat for a bit, stepping over broken vases and bottles until he finds one of his dirtier clothes.

 _‘They need a wash anyway.’_ He justifies to himself as he picks it up and uses it to wipe the guardian blood off of his hands. There is probably a box of tissues in the kitchen, but Jack doesn’t really care enough to go and check. The sheriff practically drags himself over to the phone and nearly punches it in an attempt to get it to _stop beeping and telling him he has new messages. He gets it already._

The beeping drags out for a bit before it stops and a robotic voice speaks. _“You have one new message.”_ It says, before it immediately begins to play the message. “Uh… hey.” He straightens his back when he hears Rhys’s voice, awkward and unsure as to how to approach him, and Jack breathes in deeply. “Came by at… seven twenty? To check up on you. I need you at the office by ten, at _maximum._ Vasquez is gonna fry my ass if you’re not here.” Just like that, the message ends, and Jack pinches his nose.

“No goodbye again this time.” He says, voice rough from sleep, and he brings out his ECHO to check the time and his eyebrow arches when he sees he has a new text. First, the time—still has at least forty minutes. Huh, Rhys visits him exactly two hours ago. Scratching at his awfully greasy feeling hair, he finally decides to check on his new message and—

_ ‘Dad. I’ve restocked your fridge and cleaned the blood from your bathroom. I made glamours, so give them to the guardians that don’t have any. _

_ ‘Please get a bed soon, and please stop forgetting to buy the groceries.’ _

Jack furrows his brow, looking at the two texts he got and his shoulders slump when he realises that Nisha still hasn’t texted back. _‘Thanks, honeybunch.’_ Jack sends back as a reply to Angel eventually, and he doesn’t expect her to reply. _‘I seriously need to sleep more,’_ he thinks to himself as he makes his way to the kitchen and checks the fridge to see that, yep, the fridge that is empty for weeks now finally has some food in it.

He goes off to check the bathroom and—yep, clean as clean can be. He looks down at his clothes, takes in how bloody they are, and supposes that he might as well take a shower and clean up. He practically scrubs himself raw and doesn’t take too much time in the shower.

Grabbing the dirty bundle of clothes, Jack heads off to his ‘bedroom’ [as Rhys calls it to be polite despite the lack of a bed; or the lack of _space_ for a bed] to dump his clothes off into the laundry basket and he skids to a stop when he sees new clothes folded neatly on his drawers.

There’s a note on it and Jack recognises Angel’s handwriting even from the doorway. “Damn it, Angel.” He says, though his words – of course – lack venom.

At least today is a better start from every other day [though, Jack is sure it’s only because he didn’t find any alcohol in the kitchen today].

* * *

“Alright, _move it,_ stop crowding the freakin’ door you shitiots.” Jack growls and barks out at all the guardians that are yelling and grouping up in front of Vasquez’s door. The cacophony of the guardians comes to an abrupt stop when Jack talks and everyone is scrambling away. All the eyes focusing on him are wide open in fear, and Jack growls and squares his shoulders.

He shoves one of them away from the door, nearly knocks them off their feet, and Jack opens the door and shuts it, hard, behind him. Even after his leave, none of the guardians continue to make any sounds and he instead has to deal with a different set of noises once he’s finally in the office.

The sound of two arguing men.

“You can’t just—Vaughn and I calculated all of the costs for the charity donation, and it was enough for our budget! There was no need to abruptly cancel our donation for the aid of the spectres! There was _no reason_ to cancel it!” Rhys is yelling, and Vasquez has to look up at him.

The greasy, slimy idiot is crossing his arms, a glare on his face as Rhys points an accusatory finger at him while he screams. “ _I_ looked at the costs, the reasons behind the charity, and I found that it was a waste of our time and resources, Rhys. The organisation is shut down too.”

“WHAT?!” Rhys practically shrieks and he stomps his high heeled foot down, a loud clack echoing in the far too large office. “You can’t just—you—you shut down ATWOS?! What are the spectres going to do _now?_ We’re in enough deep _shit_ over the new laws **_you_** put in!”

As though dealing with an idiot, Vasquez lets out a long drawn-out sigh and shakes his head. “Rhysie, Rhys, _Rhysaloonie,_ I’m doing this for the well-being of Lynchwood, and we can’t afford some things and some of the guardians _need_ to be put on the leash. We’ve already had some uh… bad accidents.”

He can practically see the steam blowing out of Rhys’s ears from how _angry_ he looks. “Those accidents were before we came here and made Lynchwood! _Back when we had nothing but folklore and fairytales to live off of!_ Vasquez, you can’t just—ugh!” He brings one hand to his forehead and rubs circle on his temple, the other hand resting on his hip. “We are _financially_ stable right now, Vasquez. We don’t need any precautions to avoid bankruptcy! We’ve been doing _fine!_ We’re selling _oil and glamour for god sake!”_

Deciding that now is as good a time as any to step in, Jack loudly clears his throat and both Rhys and Vasquez jolt at the sound. They look over to Jack and nervousness immediately appears on their faces—Vasquez mostly because Jack knows **wallethead** very well, and Rhys because—

Best… not to think about it right now.

“I’ll uh, excuse myself. I have some pressing matters to attend to. Make sure to do your work, Rhys.” Vasquez says, sounding all too proud and smug, and Rhys’s nervousness is briefly gone and replaced with anger and he’s shaking from the effort to not scream at Vasquez.

The man walks out via the backdoor, and Jack doesn’t focus on him for long. He looks back at Rhys, arches an eyebrow, and Rhys crosses his arm once Vasquez is gone. “Hey.” Rhys says, awkwardly, and Jack reaches into his pockets to grab at his lighter and cigarette. “You shouldn’t—you know what? No. Smoke in here all you want. Let Assquez cough up smoke for fucking days.”

“Language pumpkin,” Jack mumbles around the cigarette before he lights it, and Rhys sighs and rolls his shoulders. “Whaddaya need me for, pumpkin?” Jack says after a bout of awkward silence. He blows out a small puff of smoke, away from Rhys’s face, and the personal assistant looks at him gratefully.

Rhys squeezes his arms – the cybernetic bare and the flesh one covered in his jacket’s sleeve – and he sighs. “We’ve been getting missing guardians reports. We’ve been letting the humes handle this, because we thought this was a standard missing guardians and that the humes police force are enough, but…” He uncrosses his arms and rests his hands on his hips, looking away and around, and Jack tilts his head.

“Just… here. I’ll send you the waypoints to the crime scene.” He brings his cybernetic hand forward, brandishing it all fancy-like, and Jack watches as the hand projects a screen up for Rhys.

“Crime scene? Oh, so I’m gonna be investigatin’ a murder or somethin’?” Jack asks, his voice reflecting the growing excitement inside of him, and Rhys hums in confirmation. “Great. Not that a murder is great, but eh. Gives me somethin’ else to do instead of busting the asses of shitheads who think they’re the alpha dog. I’m getting _really_ sick and tired of having to break up guardian fights.”

He hears Rhys snort and takes it as a small victory, again, that he is able to make Rhys react in a way that isn’t pure nervousness. “Yeah, well, I would have preferred it if it was just a small-time glamour shop being robbed instead of, y’know, **murder.** But don’t let me impede on your fun time, mister sheriff.”

A small ding and Jack reaches into his pocket to grab at his ECHO. He brings up the map and both of his eyebrows rise up in surprise. “This is like, a five minute walk away from here.”

“Right. Just have a look at it, and then we’ll bring back for the…” Rhys waves his hand. “Just, just go already. I have a ton of work to do today.” He turns around then, his back facing Jack, and a nagging part of him tells him to reach out to Rhys.

_‘At least ask him about his day. Or just—how he has been.’_

That doesn’t end up happening, and Jack just grunts, turns around, and walks away to head off to where Rhys points him towards.

* * *

None of the humes are here, which is good. He’s smoking another cigarette, and he wanders around the small little clearing until he stumbles upon it, finally.

There is a dead principal guardian before him and Jack winces at the sight. He kneels before the sad heap of a body and tugs at the head, tries to roll it away, and he frowns when the head rolls right on off of the long neck. At the very base, there seems to be… a gash he thinks and he reaches out, sinks his fingers into it, and notes with some disgust that, _yep,_ the neck and head are all severed.

“Yup.” He pops the p as he talks… to no one. “Can’t have been a hume. Would’ve been too god damn easy.” He stands up then and wipes the blood off on his trousers. He grabs at his cigarette, drops it, and stomps it before Jack decides to go wandering around the place to see if he can find any clues.

Definitely needs to pick it up later, though. Some idiot guardians officer might try and use it to try and blame him for the murder, then there will be a loop of _no you idiot it’s too recent_ or **whatever.**

Wouldn’t be the first time someone has tried. Back then, Nisha will usually whip the idiot immediately afterwards, and she will tell them not to bother the sheriffs when they are conducting official business.

 A brief bout of laughter escapes Jack and he presses the back of his clean hand against his mouth to muffle himself.

Damn it.

* * *

His search comes up with _absolutely fucking nothing!_

Or, well, that’s a bit harsh. He did find some cloth scraps, broken glamour of a make he doesn’t recognize, and a note in **_old fucking vault tongue_** but the amount of time Jack has had to put into finding them is _really not worth this._ There are actual _holes_ around where Jack has to rely on being a fucking guardian to break the walls and try and retrieve some shit.

So only finding scraps of some shirt or something, broken glamour, and **A GOD DAMN NOTE IN OLD FUCKING _VAULT TONGUE_** is not really helping his mood right now.

Who the hell talks the old Vault Tongue anyway?! That language is like… two thousand years old! Jack is older than that and he _barely_ remembers vault tongue! He growls and lights up another cigarette; it’s a cheap product, because Jack just doesn’t care for luxury anymore, but the smell is enough to calm his nerves and ease his frustration.

What is he going to tell Rhys? Oh, sorry, we’re probably going to have to spend **forever** deciphering this note? More guardians might die, but if they are as thorough as this first murder then this note is the only evidence they have!

Then Rhys is just going to get more shit from ungrateful guardians, and _damn it_ it’s going to be like three years ago all over again.

Nisha is way better with words than Jack is. She’s probably stronger than him too, he doesn’t remember, but Nisha is definitely better at talkey-talkey than Jack is. He has no time to mope, however, and he scratches the back of his head before he makes his way back to the office.

* * *

All the guardians from before are gone and only Timothy is there being the dutiful janitor. His black hair bounces with his movement, and Jack has to hold back the dumb urge to ruffle his curly hair. The freckled boy looks up at him and steps aside so that Jack can enter the office, and he gives the boy a thumbs up.

Timothy rolls his eyes at that, though Jack does catch the way the corner of his lips twitch. Ah, cute kid; Rhys makes a good choice in hiring Timothy back then. “Yo, kiddo.” Jack calls out, and Timothy stops his mopping to look up at Jack. “Is wallethead in there?” At Timothy’s blank expression, Jack scratches his chin. “Vasquez. He in there?”

“Oh,” his voice is awfully soft and Timothy shakes his head, “no, no. Just Vaughn and Rhys. I think Rhys fell asleep.” He looks away from Jack and goes back to mopping and Jack decides not to bother him anymore. His mood is already lighter thanks to the kid, and Jack pushes the door open and daintily closes it behind him as to not bother Timothy.

Rhys is fast asleep at his desk, just like Timothy says, and Vaughn is looking through his paperwork for him. Noticing Jack arrive, Vaughn elbows Rhys in the side and the personal assistant snorts and slowly sits up. The little accountant and history keeper reaches into Rhys’s pocket to pull out his napkin to wipe the little bit of drool on Rhys’s face away.

“Vau.. wh-? Oh! Jack!” He seems to sober up from his sleepiness at the sight of Jack and he stands up rather abruptly. “Jack, did you—did you find anything?”

Jack scratches at the skin of his neck. “Yeah. I have it here with me, cupcake.” He brings his other hand up to reveal the small bag of evidence he has, and Rhys exchanges a look with Vaughn. “There wasn’t much to find there, princess.”

He strides over to Rhys and dumps the evidence bag on his table, opens it up, and he lays it out on the desk for them all. “The broken glamour there probably belongs to the victim because it was a guardian when I found ‘em. D’no who the scraps belong to, and the note is in old vault tongue.”

“Wait. Old vault tongue?” Rhys repeats dumbly, and Jack shrugs. “But that—that hasn’t been used recently, has it?” He looks over to Vaughn when says that.

Iron abs there adjusts his glasses and shakes his head. “Nope. Any vault tongue texts were all translated into normal hume language, and it’s pretty much a _wholly_ optional class at this point.” He looks like he iss about to say something else, but Rhys lets out a loud groan of frustration that catches both Jack and Vaughn’s attention.

“Vasquez is going to _fry my fucking ass!”_

“Language.” Jack pipes in, and Rhys pouts his way. Jack shrugs and buries his hands in his pockets, his mood purely neutral.

“He’s going to be all ‘ _told you that I was right. Now I can use all the money from the charities I practically stole to make our guardians’ police force better!’_ and then we’re going to argue again and I’m going to have to be like, _‘no, no, we still had money!’_ and **damn it!”** Rhys throws his arms up in the air at some point during his rant, and Vaughn is scratching his chin. “It’s going to take us _months_ to be able to decipher old vault tongue! That thing has worst grammar than ten drunken hillbillies talking about cocaine!”

He slumps into his chair then, looking defeated, and Vaughn looks wholly unamused. “You done there, buddy?” Vaugh says. Rhys groans pathetically, and Vaughn takes that as his cue to continue. “What I was going to say before you rudely interrupted me- I can actually read vault tongue.”

“You can?” Jack and Rhys say simultaneously, and Vaughn nods and continues.

“I mean, vault tongue was still mandatory to learn for some time in some history-based schools and in history courses before Minister Alma declared it purely unnecessary and had vault tongue translated.” Rhys wraps his arms around Vaughn then, and iron abs pets Rhys’s head as the taller man nuzzles him. “It’s… rusty. I mean, I’m probably gonna need hours and, hopefully, at most a day and a half to translate it, but I can do it.”

When Rhys lets him go Vaughn takes the note daintily and makes his leave before Rhys can say anything else. He stands in awkward silence with Rhys now and Rhys isn’t—well, he’s not nervous or tense, but he is unreadable now that Vaughn – his good energy – is gone.

They don’t say anything to each other for a while and Jack looks around the office before his eyes fall on the minister desk. He remembers the time when Maxim Turner sits at that desk; once the desk of a genius, now the desk of a moron that stumbles his way into being a minister. He is slightly taken aback when he looks back to Rhys to see him working on paperwork already.

“I’m gonna go now. Call me up when the body’s brought in for autopsy or somethin’.” Jack says. Rhys hums in response, and Jack considers saying something more.

Nothing comes to mind and he digs one hand into his pocket and lets one hand hang free as he makes his leave. Timothy’s not around, probably done cleaning up, and Jack makes his way over to the elevator so that he can go back to his crummy apartment.

He can either sleep for a bit or drink, and drinking definitely sounds like the better option right now.


	2. Chapter 2

Coming back home is terrible. He nearly breaks the door open trying to get it to unlock before he realises that he just has been _turning the god damn key in the wrong way._ Nearly snapping the key in half, Jack makes his way in and slams the door shut behind him. He is about… an hour and six minutes late getting home, and that’s because mostly he has to stop some dumb ass guardians trying to throw those— those damn _puttis_ at the wall.

God damn it, he hates ophas so much, and he hates their need to constantly manufacture this colour bombs against the freaking wall. Why do they have to look like _flying babies_ as well?

He groans and falls down into the small armchair in his flat and Jack lets his head fall back. Every god damn day it is something else—guardians throwing putti, guardians having a cockfight, murder, pride, gang wars, turf wars, and sometimes _Rhys_ needs Jack’s help just to go home on some days.

There are some days where Jack just wants Lynchwood to burn to the god damn ground, but then that’s just his old man bitterness talking. “God damn.” He says out loud, because he thinks back to when he lives up in Helios, _proper._ He runs his hand through his hair and scowls when it feels greasy again.

… Now may be a good time as ever to crack open a few vodka bottles; then later on, he can start drinking rum and whiskey and if he is lucky he will still have some of those fancy vintage wines that Rhys gives to him as gifts a long time ago. He stares up at the ceiling and considers counting the amount of stains he can see on it before Jack decides against that Herculean task and decides that, yes, drinking is needed if he is thinking of counting the ceiling stains again.

Just as he pushes himself up off of the armchair, his ECHO mobile goes off and Jack pinches the bridge of his nose. He needs to put that thing on silent and he wants to ignore it, but for some reason – some dumb, hopeful reason – he reaches into his pocket and pulls it out to see who it is.

 _Rhys Kasrayi_ is displayed on the mobile screen and Jack scratches the back of his head as he swipes to answer. He doesn’t say anything at first when he realises he can hear people _talking_ in the background.

“ _Are—are you sure he’s even awake right now?”_ It’s iron abs—Vaughn, he reminds himself—that’s talking and he hears Rhys’s disgruntled groan.

_“I’m—I’m sure. He has to be. I mean, I just got report from one of the humes—human police that they saw the sheriff getting really angry at some people for throwing fake babies at the wall.”_

Jack can hear the sigh from Vaughn’s side, no matter how far away he seems to be from the phone. _“Ophas again? Seriously? Why can’t they use the puttis for good?”_

_“Vaughn, babe, love of my life and light of my dim woods, I have no clue. But—but how’s the translating going? I need to tell Jack something.”_

_“Tuna mayonnaise crab eats the donkey gaseous state.”_

_“What?”_

Vaughn’s exasperation is as clear as day to Jack as the shortie accountant/history keeper speaks again, and Jack has to keep from snickering. _“What I’m saying, Rhys, is that the translation is going brilliantly, bud.”_

Rhys groans, and Jack hears the sound of something being slapped and he assumes that Rhys probably smacked his own forehead. “ _I hate old vault tongue so much-“_

_“Hey, Rhys, did Jack answer yet?”_

“I did.” Jack says, finally, and Rhys yelps and Vaughn is yelping, and he hears iron abs exclaim _“Rhys don’t drop the phone!”_ and there seems to be a bit of a flailing going on, a few squawks as to whether or not the phone is broken, and dual sighs of relief.

On the other side, once the flailing finishes, Rhys clears his throat and coughs. _“Yes, Jack, hi. Um, I just—wanted to call to… you probably heard how the translation is going, didn’t you?”_

“Yep!” Jack chirps out, sounding far too amused for how he feels right now, and Rhys is sighing in exasperation. “I’m sure I can find around… thousands of people in Lynchwood that like tuna, though I don’t know people who like tuna next to some _mayonnaised crabs,_ pumpkin.”

_“Okay, okay, I know- this was a rather useless call all things considering-“_

_“Told you that you should’ve waited a bit longer.”_

_“Vaughn, honey boo, babelicious cupcake of my heart, please shut up.”_ There is a brief moment of silence. _“Thank you. Anyway, as I was kinda saying—I think the translation might take a bit longer. Vaughn overestimated his capacity to remember old vault tongue well-“_

_“S’not my fault vault tongue is like trying to eat books with cat piss on them.”_

_“Vaughn? Ew. Seriously, dude, shut up and let me talk to Jack.”_

Even though Vaughn isn’t talking, Jack bets he is rolling his eyes right now and the sheriff scratches at his cheek. “If you called me just to show off how much of a married couple-“ Rhys lets out an embarrassed sounding groan at that, “—you two are then I’m flattered. And confused. So, back to the whole vault tongue thing, does this mean I’m gonna have to wait a few days or-?”

“ _Something like that. I just wanted to call and let you know that. But! Shit-“_ in the middle of his speech, Jack decides to interrupt him with a playful“language-“, and he grins slightly at the exasperated tone that Rhys takes. _“Jack shut the hell up. Anyway. I nearly forgot. Ms. Moxxi just sent a request for someone to go to her bar because she thinks some illegal trade is going on, and she doesn’t want either police force to find it if she’s right._

_“You think you can do me a solid and check whether or not she’s right, and do something about it? If the human or guardian police get wind of it—“_

“It’ll be a shitshow. I know, cupcake, no need to tell me.”

After that, neither of them have anything to say. Rhys doesn’t thank Jack, and Jack just wants to listen. The ease of before seems to completely dissipate now and Jack scowls at the fact that the fidgety silence is back. He longingly looks at his kitchen, wondering if he can go and get a drink before Rhys hangs up on him, but he’s interrupted by a sigh on the other end, a click, and a beep that signifies the call is over.

Again, he looks at his kitchen as he pockets his phone and decides that, well, if he’s going to go to Moxxi’s he might get some of her fancy ass cocktails. Maybe the especially expensive ones, because Jack hasn’t been spending _shit_ on this flat and he sure has hell hasn’t been spending jackfuck on himself.

* * *

The taxi ride is a bumpy, annoying ride that doesn’t let him nap and Jack is glaring holes into the back of the taxi driver that he can _smell_ is a guardian under glamour. The poor guy is awfully resilient, though tense, and doesn’t once start making small sobby noises like most people do when Jack focuses on them. He doesn’t miss the way the man practically melts when Jack slams the door shut behind him as he leaves, having given the guardian his pay.

He rubs at his shoulders and wonders how one taxi ride can fuck up his already bad back and rolls his shoulders as best he can to get rid of some of the knots. The neon lights of Moxxi’s bar burns down brightly on him as Jack stares up at it, rolling and rubbing his shoulders, and Jack looks around to check who else is here.

Best to make sure no asshole is hanging about trying to hassle Moxxi, her workers, or anyone else in the bar. The amount of harassment reports he gets from this place… he can probably feed an entire orphanage on those papers alone.

Not that he will. That is a stupid idea. (But also kind of funny.)

He makes his way down the stairs into Moxxi’s bar, his shoes clicking and clacking far too loudly on the steps for his taste, and Jack decides he really needs to be drunk right now. When he pushes the doors to the bar open, the cacophony of laughter and yelling suddenly goes still and quiet.

“The hell you all lookin’ at?” Jack growls out as he bares his teeth, and his scar starts to glow and flare. The whites of his eyes briefly invert and everyone is cowering at the sight if Jack. “You all are gonna _go back to being drunk assholes_ or you are going to have to _answer to me,_ you hear me?”

No one responds, but everyone turns back to their drinks and, within moments, they are all back to being drunk idiots because Moxxi’s drinks? Powerful. They can probably knock out a vault guardian. He looks around, tries to pick out any suspicious folk, and he pinches his nose when it hits him that now that he’s here he is duty-bound to stop any fight that breaks loose.

_God damn it._

Moxxi’s behind the counter, like always, and there’s a glint in her eyes despite the absolute neutrality of her expression. Jack has to ponder how she does it for less than a second before he remembers the way her face twists into anger when Nisha talks to her years ago.

Good times, kinda.

She catches sight of him and beckons him over and Jack is there within a few long strides. “Yo, Moxx.” Jack says as he sits on one of the stools in front of the counter and Moxxi places her hands on the counter, leans forward, and Jack focuses on her face with relative ease. “Got a call that yoooou made a report.” he says with a click of his tongue, and Moxxi rolls her eyes at him. “Whose asses do you need me to kick so hard that their buttcheeks concave?”

“Glad to see that our sheriff speaks in such a classy manner.” Moxxi says, and Jack immediately misses her real accent.

He kind of misses her smiling properly, actually.

Jack rolls his eyes at her and rests his elbows on the table and his chin on his palms. “Classy was never my thing, Moxx.” Jack answers, one sharp eyebrow arching and he looks at her challengingly. The bartender rolls her eyes, again, and Jack sighs. “But no, seriously, I came here because of a report. And probably for like, ten drinks.”

“I’m givin’ you nine, sugar, because ten’ll make you go ballistic.” Moxxi says smoothly and she leans back, one hand going to her hip while the other just hangs limply by her side. “I saw some guardians around here a few days ago; all looked tired and haggard, and they all had boxes with ‘em. They went out in the back of my bar.”

She cocks her hips to the side as she speaks, and Jack merely hums in response. “Last weekend, I came to pick something up that I left in here and I smelt… something odd. Like chemicals brewing or whatever. Can’t tell if its drugs, or something worse, but I don’t need that around my business.”

“Especially when the smell can chase people away?” Jack asks, and Moxxi’s expression gives the most minuscule of twitches. “Thought so. You want me to check it out now, or--?”

“No now’s not a good time. My patrons are already nervous, even more so after your lil’ outburst, sugar-“

“They were starin’! What did you want me to do, let them stare and piss themselves in silence?”

Moxxi closes her eyes and shakes her head. “Oh, your class always just leaves me speechless, you know that, Jack?” Jack gives her a lazy grin that is gone within seconds. “But I’d like you to come back at… closing time. Which is ten, because it’s a Wednesday.”

“I thought it was a Monday.” Jack grumbles out and he crosses his arms on the bar, his leg bouncing as he sits. “Damn, can’t believe I was _two_ days off.”

Something flickers on Moxxi’s face then- something… sad, Jack wants to say, but he’s not really sure, but it’s gone as quickly as it came and his ex-girlfriend is just shrugging her shoulders. “You seem drunk enough without my help already, sugar, so no drinks for you until you check this shit out.”

Jack groans and rests his head on his arms and his shoulders slump. “Ugh, can I at least sleep in your backroom until closing time or something? I don’t wanna go back to my flat and come back again.”

“Quit being such a baby.” Moxxi says, and Jack thinks he hears a tinge of her old accent in her voice that mixes with the quietly playful tone in her voice. “Yeah, you’re welcome out back. It’s easier for us both in the end, anyway.”

He pushes himself up and away from her counter, gives her some finger guns with a lazy grin, and Moxxi rolls her eyes at him and waves him off. He makes his way out back, pushes past one of the newbies working here, and he nearly groans at the sight of a bed.

It is a simple bed, mostly meant for people who are _genuinely_ sick and unhealthy and not drunk sick, but Jack takes advantage of it and makes himself comfortable on the simple thing.

Finally.

Some fucking sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack _wants_ to say he dreams of better times. Dreams of the time that he makes Rhys laugh so hard that milk flies out his nose, of the time that Nisha punches him in the arm with a big grin on her face because he says a shitty joke, and of the time that Angel walks around their house with dust on her and magic swirling around her smiling face.

He doesn’t, because that is too nice, and he lies awake for twenty minutes thinking of the better times trying to make them come to him as dreams. They don’t come back, and Jack ends up dreaming about lots of _black._ Just an empty, empty black and it is the type of sleep where Jack doesn’t even know if he fell asleep.

Moxxi opens the door to the backroom and that is what _actually_ wakes him up, makes him look up blearily at Moxxi who is wearing a buttoned up coat. “Sugar,” Moxxi says, her face neutral yet her voice betraying the slightest bit of worry, “there was heavy snowfall while you were asleep. There’s a spare coat in the closet; maybe a bit small, but better than nothing.”

Jack just grunts and looks away from the open door. He covers his face, rubs the sleep out of his eyes, and looks up at the ceiling. It is cleaner than he expects, and Jack sits up on the infirmary bed. He rubs his shoulders, groaning at the ache through his spine. Seriously, when did he become so freaking weak?

“What time is it?” He asks, voice gruff with sleep, and Moxxi brings up one of her wrists to her face. He feels like it’s taking her forever to respond, but it’s just less than a second. She backs away, looks at the watch hands in the brighter light, and clicks her tongue.

“Ten-ten, sugar. You slept for… a long time, I can tell you that much. Your pretty P.A called—“ Jack grunts at that; he forgets to call Rhys, great. “—to check if you were here, and I told him you felt ill and needed some time to sleep.”

“Dang, Moxx. You’re a hero.” Jack says with a snicker and he stands up, looks around the small, pitifully dark backroom, and Moxxi flips the light switch on. “Right, so—you gonna go now?”

“Yes-“

“How about ya tell me a bit more about the guardians you saw, first, eh? Or do you have that much faith in my abilities? I mean, I’m flattered, because I am a genius, but seriously. Some info would be great before you up and leave.” He says, and brings both his hands to finger gun her way. “Pshew pshew.”

Wholly unimpressed, Moxxi pinches the bridge of her nose and rests one hand on her hip. “I was goin’ to tell you before I left, sugar. Why do you think I’m even here?” She sighs and shakes her head. “They were glamoured; it seemed like really cheap glamour too; none of the good, yet affordable stuff your daughter makes.” For a moment, pride blooms in Jack’s chest and he gives her a grin at that.

A roll of her eyes and a flick of her wrist, Moxxi continues on. “Told you already that they looked awfully tired. The smell came from deeper down the back of my bar, and I think they may be using the basement that-“

“There’s a basement? Why ain’t you usin’ it? I mean, why have an entire underground just—dug up when you already had a basement?” Jack interjects, and Moxxi gives him an irritated look. “A’right, a’right, I’ll let you continue; don’t get your flimsy blue panties in a twist.”

“That’s… about it, actually. I think they’re in the basement. Anyway, sugar, I’ve been here for far too long, and I really need to go now—Helga invited me over for some drinks, and-“

“Is Angel gonna be there too?”

There’s a small beat of silence. Moxxi looks at him blankly, and Jack scratches his cheek. “Take care, Jack.” Moxxi says firmly, a small bit of her accent coming back, and Jack watches her turn around and leave.

He leaves the room as well when she is completely gone, and he takes notice of the key and small note next to it on the bar counter. He grabs the key, pockets it, and looks down at Moxxi’s surprisingly messy and scribbly handwriting.

It never ceases to amaze him how different Moxxi is from her bar character, and he has to wonder what he has to do to see Moxx again.

But—right, weird little thing going in the back. He should probably go check that out now.

* * *

Jack really regrets not picking up that coat because it is freaking freezing outside and Jack doesn’t know why he just comes out here without the damn coat. But, he’s out now, his nose going a bit red from the cold, and he’s grateful that there isn’t at least _too_ much snow to be that much of a hindrance. Right now, at least; Jack is sure it’s gonna get worse later.

As Moxx said, there’s a basement behind her bar. He sniffs around and makes a face at the weird smell—yep, it’s definitely too… sharp and plastic for Jack’s taste, and it smells cheap and of way too much labour and tears.

He grabs at the handle of the small basement doors and grunts, his veins throbbing and turning a deep purple as he starts to pull. Tan skin starts to slowly fade away into grey as Jack strains, teeth sharpening and clenching until he manages to rip the doors open—

Not off, because that’ll cause him a ton of trouble, and Jack doesn’t have the patience for that. He makes his way down the stairs once everything is back to normal and he wrinkles his nose. “Blergh. This place is a freakin’ shithole.” Jack grumbles and he walks around the place. It is definitely cleaner than it has any right to be, but it doesn’t mean it looks any better.

It is an awfully cramped place that makes Jack almost feel claustrophobic, and he has to be careful of what he steps on because there are randomly spread pieces of broken glass. There are shelves upon shelves of boxes, and Jack has to wriggle and stand his ground to be able to remove one of them and plop them on a messy desk nearby.

He considers just swiping everything off, but this is all evidence and he can’t mess with it even further than he is right now. When he opens the damn box, Jack’s eyebrows shoot up.

Glamours. If Jack is any other person, he will not have even been able to tell that these are all tiny little containers of glamour because of the non-standard vials they are in. He picks one up, brings it to his nose and sniffs it.

No magic. None at all. Jack takes a better look at the vials; instead of the intricate, almost art pieces of vials that the sirens use, this one is just a plain blue one with black stripes on it. He uncorks the thing, taps a bit of it onto the desk, and furrows his brow at the yellowish-green dust that settles.

“Great.” Jack groans. “First, missing guardians that may or may not be murdered soon, and now illegally produced glamour.” He glares down at the small bit of dust on the table, as though it is to blame for all his life’s troubles. He takes about five more vials and shoves them into his pocket, shoves the box back into its place, and steps out into the freezing cold again so that he can go back to the office after locking the bar up.

* * *

 

 _‘I miss my car,’_ Jack thinks as he takes another taxi ride back to the office. This one is way smoother than the one to Moxxi’s, so Jack doesn’t glare the hume behind the wheel to death like he does the guardian earlier. He slams the door shut behind him, though, and makes the taxi rattle ever so slightly much to his satisfaction.

He is still cold, his nose awfully red and ears starting to tinge red too, so he hurries his way to the lobby and into the elevator, teeth chattering ever so slightly from waiting in the cold for far too long. He doesn’t remember if his heater works, so Jack thinks he is going to have to turn the stove on and at least stand near it until he warms up again then go back to sleep.

As late as it is, Timothy is back and there are big bags of trash in his hands as he makes his way past Jack. He nods at him in greeting briefly before he goes back to his work, and Jack watches Timothy for a bit longer. The boy’s wearing plastic gloves, and he throws them away with the trash before he goes off to grab the broom and start sweeping.

“Any commotion happen while I was gone?” Jack asks, and Timothy lets out a soft ‘hm?’ in response. “I was uh… gone for a bit. Anythin’ happen in the office while I was gone? Anyone step outta place, any drama? Juicy stuff, cupcake, y’know?”

A thin hand reaches up to tuck black hair behind a pale ear, brows furrowing as he tries to remember. “Vasquez and Rhys broke out into more arguments while guardians were waiting outside again. Athena was around, luckily, so she was able to chase off the guardians before they tried and do something out of frustration.”

“Anything else, princess?” Jack prods, and Timothy squints at him before he looks away to his left, trying to remember.

After a while, Timothy purses his lips and shakes his head. “No sir, I don’t remember anything else.” His voice is very soft, and he looks at Jack with a careful gaze. “Do you need anything else or can I…” he gestures at his broom and Jack waves him off.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Try not to get sick, sheriff.” Timothy says and Jack holds back a snort as he looks at his trembling and reddened fingers.

Damn, still cold. He is going to need to get his business with Rhys over and done with quickly. He steps past the sweeping Timothy and takes long strides to the office. He opens the door easily, and Vasquez is busy looking at paperwork, almost as if he is searching for something, while Rhys is giving absentminded answers on the phone to someone.

He is writing something down as the person talks to him, and Jack looks away from him to catch Vaughn looking through the books in this giant ass office. He sees a note neatly tucked into his breast pocket and he rolls his eyes.

What a dedicated nerd. He looks at Vasquez briefly, makes eye contact, and the man quickly looks away when Jack grins toothily at him. He takes big steps towards Rhys, and the personal assistant is humming and frowning in response to whoever it is that is on the phone with him.

“Ms. Kane—yes, yes I know. We have been a week overdue, but the problems—. We can’t help you if you aren’t more specif—the minister’s office is very busy, Ms. Kane.” He catches Jack from the corner of his eye and motions at him to wait for a moment. “Ms. Kane, I understand that you are upset, but you cannot expect the minister’s office to give you assistance if you are not—”

He’s tapping the table with his pen and Jack doesn’t remember a time when Rhys looked properly awake. “Thank you for your concerns, Ms. Kane, but untoward comments like that are not appreciated. I understand you are frustrated, but unto—“ anger briefly flashes on Rhys’s face at whatever the woman on the other side says, and Jack looks at him sympathetically.

Jack scratches at his cheek at the awfully affronted look on Rhys’s face. He looks around, feeling oddly out of place as Rhys practically _argues_ with some random strange on the phone. Which is… stupid.

He hears Rhys sigh, and then continue talking. “This is part of the Employee Rights Act, under employment protection which states that employees have a right to not service you if— Ma’am, if you continue this, I am afraid I am going to have to—

“Goodbye, ma’am.” Rhys says abruptly and he practically slams the phone back down to end the call. He rubs at his nose and looks up at Jack with a very tired look that quickly turns into that of alarm when he takes in how red Jack is. “Jack—what the—oh my god, did you not wear a coat or anything?!”

Vasquez looks up at Rhys’s outcry and Jack is about to say something, but Rhys stands up and grabs Jack’s elbow—“I can feel how cold you are through your clothes—shit, Jack!” Rhys cries out and he storms out, grabbing a small plastic bag on the way out, despite Vasquez’s protests in the background, and Jack stumbles after him with surprise on his face.

“Here let’s—let’s go back to your flat. I bought groceries, and I think I remembered to get some hot chocolate mix so, c’mon. We’ll make you something to feel better.” Jack just shrugs as best as he can as Rhys drags him away back to his flat and he steps aside, lets go of Jack, and waits for Jack to unlock the door to his flat.

Looking at him blankly, Jack fumbles a bit with unlocking the door with how _cold_ he feels right now and Rhys exhales and looks away. It eventually lets out a soft click and Jack ushers Rhys inside. He closes the door behind them both, locks the door and leaves the key in the lock, and Rhys is already in his kitchen before long.

“Did Angel stock your fridge up? Good. I’ll – I’ll make us something simple, okay? I mean, I know it’s late for it but I can make us some waffles? Waffles sound good, right, Jack?” Rhys calls out, and Jack shrugs and falls down onto his armchair.

He lets his head fall back. “Waffles are fine, cupcake.” Jack yells back eventually, and he begins to count the stains on his ceiling again to pass the time while Rhys busies himself in his kitchen.

Jack manages to keep himself busy that way and Rhys is back into the living room with a plate of waffles and a cup of hot chocolate in his hands. He places them on the small table near Jack’s door and drags the thing along, carefully, until it’s before Jack. “I could’ve just… had ‘em on my lap or something, sweetheart.” Jack says, but Rhys just gives him a look.

When Rhys doesn’t go to grab anything else from the kitchen and, instead, grabs a discarded cushion and sits on it Jack looks at him blankly. “Realised I wasn’t really hungry.” Rhys says limply and he gives an awkward smile at Jack’s look.

Without saying anything else, he grabs the cup of hot chocolate first and immediately drinks it, and Rhys yelps in surprise at that. It burns his throat, makes his eyes water from how much it hurts to drink it and his tongue is scalding but Jack feels warmer and better already as the heat spreads throughout his body.

He’s almost tempted to say that he would have preferred the alcohol, but Rhys is looking at him with wide, puppy eyes that are full of worry and Jack decides he doesn’t have the time or energy to say something that bitter. Jack eats in silence, and Rhys is busy focusing on parts of his flat.

“Don’t even think about tryin’ to renovate this place or something.” Jack says after he swallows down a slice of his waffle and Rhys looks at him sheepishly. “I’m gettin’ really sick and tired of constantly coming back to the smell of cleaning products or whatever.”

“Jack, they don’t even smell that bad—you never used to be this wa—anyway! I saw some strawberries in the fridge. Tomorrow, I’ll come over and make you pancakes with strawberries and chocolate syrup, how’s that? I think that sounds great.”

“You’re gonna be busy tomorrow morning, and I’m gonna be asleep, cupcake.” Jack says with a deadpan tone, and Rhys looks at him with an agitated gaze.

He runs his cybernetic hand through his hair and sighs. “I can stay the night, then-“

“No.” Jack spits out, his voice full of so much energy that Rhys looks at him in shock. “I don’t have a freakin’ place for you to sleep, and I tore apart all my blankets two weeks ago. So, **_no,_** you are not staying the night, you are not coming over _tomorrow,_ and you are **_going to go back to your own flat_** once you’re done here ** _._** ”

He lets the fork and knife clatter on the empty plate and Rhys is looking down at the dirty floor, and it takes Jack a while to realise that Rhys is breathing really quickly.

It takes Jack a while to realise that his skin is greyer now and for him to feel the scar glowing faintly, arms hot and warm with energy as his veins bulge. He opens and closes his mouth, swallows, and closes his eyes and _breathes_ in an attempt to calm down.

“I… I think you’re done here now, right, Rhysie?” Jack finally says when he is _sure_ he is calmer now. He looks down at his arms, takes in how his skin colour changes and the pale veins under his skin. He flexes his fingers into fists, relaxes them into open palms, and then repeats.

The silence is suffocating, and Rhys is just sitting there, looking away, with his hands on his lap and his face now unreadable. The lines of Rhys’s body are tense, awfully tense, when Jack looks back to him and he wants to groan in absolute _irritation._

After a while, Rhys finally stands up and he picks the cushion up. He looks at the thing, and something is going on inside Rhys’s pretty little head. Jack taps his knees, bounces his leg, and waits for Rhys to do something because he sure as hell doesn’t want to be the one to get things rolling.

Patting the cushion out, Rhys leans it against a clean part of the wall and he stands up and looks at Jack. He doesn’t smile, but he does give Jack a two-fingered salute before he’s gone, closing the door quietly and gently, and leaving Jack behind to stare at the cushion sitting against the wall.


	4. Chapter 4

The beginning of the new day is marked with his door opening and someone taking small, dainty steps into his flat, and Jack is groaning as the aches of falling asleep in an armchair catch up to him. He presses down onto his back, wincing as he feels knots beneath his fingertips, and tries to give himself some form of a massage as the intruder makes their way around his flat—

Jack almost misses Rhys’ form as he slips away into Jack’s kitchen, but he doesn’t miss the way he drops a bag nearby. He looks over at the door of his place that’s slightly ajar, and Jack forces himself up onto shaky feet – crap, his legs fell asleep – to go and close the door at least.

His head is awfully _pounding_ and Jack stumbles away from the door, nearly trips over a bottle, and he leans against the small archway into his kitchen. His gaze is blurry for a bit, but he can definitely make out Rhys’s form.

He’s standing in his kitchen in just fluffy pajamas and bunny socks, and Jack opens and closes his mouth stupidly. Rubbing his eyes so that he can actually see again, he catches Rhys just looking at him with a small, sleepy smile that disappears quickly when Rhys takes in Jack’s expression. “Hey.” Rhys says, sleep thick in his voice, and he rubs the back of his neck.

“Ibuprofen.” Jack rasps out in response, instead of actually saying _hello_ or _good morning,_ and Rhys is just staring at him very blankly before he shakes his head. Jack groans and shuffles his way over, but Rhys is already pulling one drawer out. Jack’s eyes widen when Rhys throws the medicine his way and he’s fumbling to not let it drop.

Rhys doesn’t look at him then, but Jack is staring at the medicine and he considers, almost considers, just taking it now but he hears Rhys’s irritable, tired sigh. “Stay, and don’t— _don’t­_ —take the damn medicine, okay? I’m gonna make us some pancakes. Like I said I would.” His voice is sharp, and Jack grunts in response.

His head hurts too much for this, and Rhys knows it. He’s slipping in and out of consciousness, exhaustion and headache just tugging him one way or another, and he can hear Rhys cooking and using his stove. “You need a new stove.” Rhys says simply, sounding much more awake now. “I’ll have a new one ordered in.”

“Don’t.” He replies, and Rhys is glaring at him but Jack is shrugging. “It’ll look outta place.” Jack offers limply and Rhys slams something onto one of the counters. He closes his eyes and tries not to acknowledge Rhys’s little tantrum.

Rhys goes back to the fridge and looks through it, and Jack doesn’t know what he’s expecting from there. “Here, eat a mango and take the ibuprofen, and then just sit on your chair and wait until I’m back with your pancakes. It should be done soon, so just… don’t do anything stupid, like piss on the carpet.”

It takes him a while to even register what Rhys has said, but he bares his teeth at him and Rhys doesn’t react. He takes the mango from him, a bit sulkily, and ever so sulkily obeys what Rhys has told him because damn it.

Jack really needs to quit drinking.

* * *

Apparently, when he didn’t even realise it, Jack fell asleep again. For like, five minutes or so, at least, he doesn’t know, but he does know that Rhys kicks him in the ankle and forces him awake, the mango falls off his lap, and Jack is looking around trying to see what attacked him.

A plate is put onto his lap and Jack stares at the pancakes with an uncomprehending stare. It has strawberries on it, definitely, and when he looks up he’s surprised to see Rhys all dolled up for work already. He’s working on his tie once he has given Jack his pancakes, cursing every so often because Rhys still isn’t used to actual ties, and Jack wants to help.

But there is a plate of food on his lap, and standing up would mean he’s going to waste food and time. He looks down at it and… Jack has to admit, it actually looks pretty good. Six years ago, if Rhys starts cooking, Jack is sure that his entire flat will be on fire just from Rhys taking a step into the kitchen.

However, six years ago Jack actually has something in his place for fires. Here? He doesn’t really… have anything. “When’d you get good in the kitchen?” Jack asks when Rhys takes too damn long, and the other hums in response. “You’d set water on fire.” Jack says, and Rhys stops fiddling with his tie long enough to look at him.

“Weeeell, when you and—“ for a moment, Rhys hesitates, before he takes a deep breath and continues, “—Nisha started working all the time, I kinda had to find a way to cook for myself. I mean, I can’t, I can’t make the good stuff like you do, but—hey. I make the basics!” At that, Rhys looks sheepish. “At least, I can make the basics. I think. I… have Vaughn help me most times.”

After that, all trace of cheeriness is gone and Rhys has his ‘business face’ on. “I need you to come to the office at _nine thirty,_ which is an hour from now, and I need you to tell me what happened over at Ms. Moxxi’s. I have to go now; oh, and um, when you see Timmy, can you tell him to bring my groceries to my floor?”

“Sure.” Jack says and Rhys is already out the door before he even finishes saying that _one_ word. Jack watches him, his tie not done yet, and Jack shifts around in place. He feels like he’s _forgetting_ something, and it takes him a moment to realise he has the vials in his pocket.

 _Oh crap._ He ever so daintily puts the Rhys-made-pancakes on the floor next to him and stands up. He digs into his pockets, and nearly falls back down onto his chair when he realises that – thank god – he did not destroy evidence while asleep. Rhys would absolutely lose his _shit_ if he knows Jack messes up that badly.

He supposes it is time for him to finish the pancakes, and… probably wash the mango up and eat it as quickly as possible, too. Didn’t even take the damn ibuprofen and his head is murdering him still.

… Did Rhys even eat? Frowning, Jack puts the plate back onto his lap, takes the somewhat sticky fork and knife set aside for him, and begins to slowly dig in.

Honestly, Jack isn’t even that hungry.

* * *

“No, Rhys, I _don’t_ know where the complete volume on the creation of ‘pus-fungi pie’ is. Stop asking me about—why do you even need it, anyway?” Is the first thing Jack hears when he arrives about twenty minutes late to the office.

Vasquez is moving past him, talking on his little Bluetooth to someone about… Jack thinks he has a meeting, but he isn’t really paying attention.

Standing near the endless stacks of bookshelves is Rhys and Vaughn; Rhys has his arms crossed in front of him, and Vaughn is holding a small book in his hands. The two are looking at each other incredulously, and Jack feels the inexplicable urge to smoke when Vaughn sighs irritably and Rhys looks awfully pleased with himself.

“Well,” Rhys begins after he has his little moment of victory, “it’s not that—not that I really need it, but I’ve been getting calls that people are getting like, weird sick, and I’m pretty sure pus-fungi pie is being made again.”

A suffering groan is how Vaughn responds, followed by the history-keeper nearly dropping the book as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s just- ewww. _Ewww._ Why would—are you _sure_ it’s pus-fungi pie? Do I really have to go look for that?”

“Well, no, I mean, our meds are doing great! I just want it to make sure I know if I have to bust some asses.”

“God, why did we as a race even make that pie?”

Rhys shrugs, and he looks to the side and catches sight of Jack. He smacks Vaughn on the shoulder and turns him around to face Jack with him, and iron abs just looks extremely tired then.

When he and Jack lock eyes, Vaughn just shrugs at him and Jack grins at him with shiny, sharp teeth. “You got anything new on the translation, Vaughn, or-“ Rhys says immediately after the reveal of teeth, and Jack gives him a cheeky smile before he focuses on Vaughn again.

Being put on the spot, Vaughn rubs the back of his head sheepishly and backs away so that he can put the book back into the bookshelf without turning. “Not… not really. I mean, I got it—I got it translated, mostly. I still need to figure out the meeting place-“

When he hears that, Jack immediately straightens up. He is tense, eyes wide and staring into Vaughn, and the nerd is coughing into his fist aggressively. “I’ll uh- bye.” With that, Vaughn turns on his heel and leaves, going to do whatever it is that he needs to do, and Rhys sighs irritably.

“Did you have to scare him away?” Rhys says afterwards, and Jack just shrugs. “C’mon, my desk. I’ve paperwork to do.” Rhys sounds like he is absolutely suffering, and Jack gives him the best lopsided grin he can manage.

He strides past Jack, a quiet confidence that quickly turns into shuffled movement, and Jack is taking smaller steps as he follows behind Rhys. He reaches into his back pocket the moment Rhys sits down and, not so carefully, dumps the vials on his desk.

At his actions, there is a period of awkward silence. Rhys is staring at the vials of shit glamour, and Jack is staring at the fact that Rhys’s hair isn’t gelled today. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t notice it earlier, but his hair seems to practically bounce with his movements.

“… Okay, what is this?” He is interrupted from his thoughts by Rhys, who leans back into his chair and crosses his arms. He is looking at Jack with a raised eyebrow and flattened lips, looking like the textbook definition of unamused. “Because this doesn’t look like anything to me.”

His brows furrow, before he remembers.

Right, difference in noses.

“It’s glamour.” Jack offers limply, to which Rhys immediately replies with a, “but it doesn’t look like the glamour we sell” and he is looking more interested already. He grabs at one of the vials and twirls it around in his grip, uncorks it and brings it up to his nose before nearly jerking it away.

Sticking his tongue out, Rhys corks it again and places the vial down and he exhales. “Okay, definitely _not_ siren glamour. This is –”

“—What I got from Moxx’s yesterday. Someone’s making illegal glamour; which… doesn’t make sense to me. Our shits already cheap.” He shrugs, and when he says that Rhys immediately looks around awkwardly. “What’s with that face, pumpkin?”

“Jack, I thought you were—nevermind, what am I saying?” Rhys sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He leans back into his chair and groans softly. “Starting… I think next Wednesday, due to increase cost of glamour ingredients, all siren shops are required to up the prices of their glamour.”

Wait. Is Jack hearing him correctly?

“I managed to prolong the price increase until then, but I can’t stop Vasquez from being Vasquez.”

 _Wait_. “I never heard about this.” Jack says, voice sharp, and Rhys is glaring at him and sitting up, properly, in his chair.

“Obviously you haven’t, otherwise you wouldn’t be acting stupid.” At Jack’s growl, Rhys tenses up a bit and inhales sharply. “ _Anyway,_ I can’t believe how quickly this all started… shit.” He runs his hand through his gel-free hair, and Jack is tense still. “Ugh, the media is going to _freak_ if this becomes widespread.”

“Vasquez givin’ you all a lot of heat, pumpkin?” Jack murmurs, and Rhys looks up at him before he looks back down at the vials.

He ignores his question and asks his own, instead. “How many vials were there? Was there only like, a few or-“

“Moxxi’s entire basement is full of ‘em. I could barely move in there, cupcake.”

At that, Rhys grits his teeth together and tears his hand away from his hair. It looks like a mess now, and Jack watches as he picks the phone up aggressively, presses it against his ear, and is practically punching the numbers in.

“You, stay.” Rhys says, voice cold, and Jack looks at him dumbly before Rhys’s voice is sweet again. “Hello? Yes, this is Rhys Kasrayi from the Minister’s office calling.  Please send a notice to “Mad” Moxxi that we need to search her bar’s basement-“ he pauses a bit, “no, this has nothing to do with the recent Hodunk and Zaford tension. I’ll send Roland down to deal with them later. Thank you. Please _keep this low.”_

The moment the call is done, Rhys is immediately grabbing at some sort of slip and he’s writing on it aggressively, nearly causes the paper to tear, before he’s shoving it into Jack’s hand. “Here, you’re now in charge of this investigation. If you need a warrant, Judge Hammerlock can give it to you easy. Just call him – you have his number, don’t you?” Jack nods. “When we ID the body, I’m also going to put you in charge of that investigation too and bullshit it out that they’re linked.”

“Isn’t that… forgery, or something?” Jack asks.

“It’s for the sake of justice.” Rhys hums after he says that and he taps his desk. “Though, to be fair, they may or may not be linked. Wasn’t there weird glamour at the scene of the crime? This is far too much of a coincidence otherwise…” Rhys shakes his head, trying to put himself back onto the current topic. “For now, I just want you to do your job as usual. We’ll call you up if we fi~nd… fingerprints, glamour trails, that sort.”

Jack looks down at the paper in his hands and squints, trying to make out some of the illegible writing amongst the somewhat legible ones. He folds it when Rhys glares at him and then pockets it, and Jack tries his hardest not to look agitated.

“I don’t have anything else for you to do today, but I’ll definitely be calling you up if anything happens… which is highly likely, knowing Lynchwood.” Rhys says dismissively, and Jack is already storming out before Rhys can get back to work. Ignoring the look of surprise on his back, Jack thinks he needs to _talk_ to someone right away.

* * *

He is barely somewhere private before he is bringing his phone out and immediately dialling up Angel. He paces around, a frown on his face, and he snarls and growls at any guardian or human that gets close to him. They all turn heel and leave, taking the longer way to get to where they need to go, and Jack doesn’t give a _damn_ if someone is going to be late.

If they even try and complain, _Jack is going to come for them_ and it won’t be pretty. He isn’t really paying attention to his phone, too busy trying to intimidate people away, that when Angel answers Jack nearly punches the wall.

“Angel,” Jack says immediately, voice a bit tense and he hears Angel excusing herself to go into the backroom, “why didn’t you tell me glamour was getting expensive? Damn it- Angel, _is that—_ is that what the glamours you gave me the other day are for?”

 _“Dad,”_ Angel says evenly, “ _it’s not that important. They were easy to make, and-“_

“I’m not **asking** if they were easy to make! **_I’m asking you why you wasted your god damn money!_** And why didn’t—why didn’t you _tell me_? You know I could’ve-“

 _“Helped?”_ Angel finishes, her voice far too calm for Jack’s liking. _“Yes, dad, I knew you’d help, but I don’t want you to spend your money on me when I’m doing fine on my own-“_

Jack exhales heavily through his nose. “How much?”

_“I’m sorry?”_

“How much was it, cupcake? You can tell me how much it _was_ , right?”

There’s a silence that hangs around for a second too long. “ _Dad, seriously, it’s nothing—nothing important.”_

“I knew it! _Damn it, Angel!_ You know you can trust me, and yet you’re too busy trying to help this shitbag of a city-“

_“Dad! Not now!”_

“Don’t ‘not now’ me, you’re not gonna answer your phone otherwise! I know you well enough—“

“ ** _Dad,_** _we are not going to talk about this—“_

Someone gets into the room and Jack is growling and snarling, eyes going wide and the person gasps and nearly drops their stuff when they take notice of Jack. “ ** _GET OUT OF HERE!”_** Jack nearly howls out and the person books it, and he can hear Angel’s angry proclamation of _DAD_ in the background. “Why are you so freaking _intent_ on leaving me out of things? I could have **helped** for God’s sake!”

_“I just didn’t think it was that important to tell you! You never tell me about your work, and I never ask so-“_

“You’re always asking _RHYS,_ that’s why I don’t tell you jacksh- don’t tell you _jack_ because you already _know! You already know!_ And everyone else I ask about just- doesn’t tell me!”

They’re both silent for a bit, and Jack’s heart is hammering against his chest at the silence from Angel’s end and he digs his hands into his hair— _fuck,_ his claws are out. He hisses as he scratches at himself, but Jack tries not to let that bother him as he talks again. “Angel, sweetheart, I’m really—damn it. I’m making some good money, and I got a shitton, so just, lemme send you-“

 _“No.”_ Angel says sharply. _“If you send me anything, I’m just not going to even use it. I’m sending it back, and I am doing fine. I have Maya and Lilith, and **you** aren’t going to worry over me. You don’t need to-“_

“I **_want_** to, Angel! I just want to be involved in your _life again!”_ He is nearly screaming, and Jack winces as his claws dig deep into his head and make him bleed—but he can handle it, because he has been victim to worse wounds before and the throbbing scar on his face is evidence of that.

Once again, there is a moment of awkward silence that hangs heavy between them both and Jack doesn’t think he has anything else to say. He doesn’t smell anyone else nearby, so Jack is luckily able to spare himself the even worse humiliation that is soon to follow. “ _Dad? Are you still there?”_ He lets out a grunt in response. _“I’m gonna come over later tonight. Wear something clean, okay?”_

“If I’m not busy.” Jack struggles to keep the emotions from projecting through his voice, and Angel is just sighing softly.

_“Yeah. If you’re not busy. I’ll see you soon, dad.”_

“Bye.” He says and Angel hangs up on him, and Jack finally dislodges his bloody claws from his head. He stares at them for a bit, tries to focus, and he breathes a sigh of relief when his claws are now bloody fingers.

Jack wipes them clean on his trousers and, once his fingers are sufficiently clean enough, he immediately starts to text Nisha.

She doesn’t answer his text of today, or of four months ago. Or a year ago. Or two. She doesn’t answer _anyone_ even though her number is still in service _,_ and yet here he is, sending her a text of what has been happening, of Angel, and an update on his life.

He waits for a bit, staring at the large text he is going to send her, and he hopes against hope that maybe she is going to respond _today._ Her phone number is still hers; he knows it is, can _feel it._

Exhaling when she doesn’t reply after a few moments, Jack holds his phone, tight, in his grip as he makes his way out into Lynchwood. He’s looking for trouble, maybe a fight, and Jack knows that Lynchwood is more than willing to provide.


	5. Chapter 5

“God,” Jack groans out as he flicks his wrist, flapping his hand in the air at the sight of the guardian grovelling before him, “I expected a fight but I did not expect to find a guardian actively _breaking_ the rules.” He wipes off blood on his shirt, a feral grin on his face at the sight of the guardian that is desperately trying to crawl away. He stomps down aggressively on the short leg of the sera guardian and the person beneath him is looking at him with wide… eyes, maybe.

“She-sheriff!” The woman gasps out, raspy and scared, and Jack bends down to roll the guardian over so she’s looking at him properly.  He lifts his foot up and stomps it down onto her thin stomach and she’s gurgling in shock. “I’m—forgive—forgive me!”

Jack tsks and lifts his foot up to shove it back down onto the thin stomach and he flinches when he hears an awful squelching sound from her stomach. “Damn, that sounds bad.” Jack whistles. “And it probably wouldn’t have happened if ya followed the rules, honey.” He lifts his foot off of her so that he can fall into a squat next to her. The grin back on his face is toxic, and the guardian is looking at him with fear clear on her face.

She chokes her words out, unable to really say anything, and Jack sighs and shakes his head. “Now, now, sweetheart, I don’t give a shit.” He says bluntly, and the guardian is shaking. “Now, you see, I’m supposed to deal with assholes like _you_ who aren’t using their _glamour!_ ” Without any warning, he brings his hand up and rams a hard punch in the middle of her throat.

A scream is about to escape her but she’s smart enough to try and bite down on her tongue to keep from letting anyone know what is happening in the dingy alleyway that Jack has himself in. “First, you resist arrest, then I find out you don’t have _any freaking glamour,_ then you try to slash my fucking throat _._ You gonna make my life difficult, or are you gonna go to the vaults without complaint?”

“I—I’ll—I’ll _go_ just _stop it.”_ She croaks out, and Jack is grinning down at her with shark’s teeth. “Good,” he says in response before he stands up, gives her a kick in the side just as a check, and the guardian is rolling over and quivering. He steps over her lanky form and makes his way out into the lights of Lynchwood, a cigarette and lighter in his hands.

Jack needed that, and if all goes well Rhys won’t have much time to bitch at him about this. He sucks in some smoke once the cigarette lights up and gently exhales it out after a while; he does not want a coughing fit after that, thank you kindly.

It takes Jack a while to calm down after that whole ordeal, blood running through his veins far too hot and skin uncomfortable. He looks around, tries to very quietly figure out where the hell he is right now, and Jack huffs when it hits him that he is in the deeper, shittier part of Overlook. “Great.” He says to himself before he begins to wander around in the streets of Overlook.

Lines upon lines of surprisingly nice looking stores greet Jack while he smokes, though the ones run by the guardians are currently closed. He is not entirely sure why, and Jack makes a mental note to go and ask Rhys about this later. He passes by humes and guardians alike, and he is able to pick out various smells.

All faint smells, because Jack isn’t really paying attention to them, but they are still _there_ and it is oddly enough able to ground him back into reality for a moment. The smell of his cigar’s smoke also curls into his nose, and that is also enough to calm him down and remind him of a few things.

One, that Angel is going to come around later tonight and two that he has an investigation to run now. Or two investigations; he doesn’t know, it can all come down to one and Jack has no damn clue.

He is wandering aimlessly now, and he hates the fact that deeper in Overlook is not as cold as the rest of Overlook. He holds his cigar between his teeth, careful to keep it away from his canines, and he checks his wallet to see if he has enough money to buy a coat because Jack, being the genius he is, forgets to bring one.

Which is wonderful. Really, Rhys will be proud. Angel too. Hey, maybe Moxxi as well, because he can just **_imagine_** the look on her face when she realises that Jack didn’t use a coat like she offers. Actually, he wonders how she is going to react to the fact that Rhys is sending a shitload of Dahl her way. Wonders what’s the look she is going to give him, because god knows if Dahl has a good reputation.

It is probably going to be the same look she gives him on the day when he walks away on her and breaks their relationship off. Hundreds of years and Jack wishes he can at least dream of that moment to feel guilty over it.

Yeah.

He has roughly enough money to get a good enough coat. Might as well spend the on-hand money right now; forgot to bring the credit card, maybe he needs bring it along more often.

Probably should.

* * *

The coat he buys is very grey. It smells of very strong fabric, and Jack is wandering the cold streets of good old Prosperity’s Junction (stupid name) with people staring at him before looking away. He catches sight of deflated putti on the ground in an alleyway and shitty graffiti on the wall, and he groans and rubs his face.

It feels like he is rubbing a god damn popsicle. He stares at the alleyway, at the – oh _come **ON**_ – twitching puttis, and at the weird goopy graffiti on the wall and decides that no, nope. Today – _today_ he is not going to deal with this bullshit. He pointedly takes a detour, takes the longer way, and decides to fumble over his ECHO to try and ask Rhys when the body is going to be ID’d.

He looks at the previous texts he sends Nisha, stares at her lack of reply, and goes to text Rhys. His fingers are still cold, so it takes some time for him to stop misspelling words so badly  that not even god damn autocorrect can understand Jack’s cold gibberish.

Not expecting him to reply any time soon, he reaches into his pocket to get a new cigar out and Jack has to keep from sighing at the sight of it.

Guardians can take lots of abuse, he reminds himself as he shakily lights his cigar and brings it up to his lips. He is standing in the middle of the sidewalk, sidling around every once in a while to let people pass, and he stares at the clock on his phone.

 _‘A few days.’_ Rhys texts back after twelve minutes, and Jack tilts his head back as he texts him back a simple ‘why’, and the answer is instantaneous. _‘Tld body takes 2nd pri. Illgal glam’s frkin cncil out.’_ God, that looks even worse than his usual texts. _‘Assq gttn chewed 4 it.’_

He can’t help but grin at that.

Damn, Jack must look so stupid. Grinning at his phone, moving side to side every once in a while to make sure people aren’t gonna be prissy little shits about anything. Still in god damn Prosperity’s Junction, wearing a nice coat that don’t match his old sneakers or ratty pants.

Yeah, Jack is quite the sight. He rubs the back of his neck, about to put the phone away, and he is interrupted by his phone buzzing in his hand. _‘Finally out of dumb meeting. I need you to go and down and help Roland with the Hodunks and Zaford bullshit._

_‘language!!!’_

_‘~_~ shut up. Anyway. Roland said he needs some help. Told him Sheriff will be coming. u goin’ there now?’_

_‘where?’_

_‘Ellie’s place. Hodunks 1st. I gtg- u gnna go or no?’_

The Dust? Damn, Jack hates that place. He doesn’t know _what_ siren cursed that pithole, but it is so unbearably _hot_ that Jack once nearly gets into a shit ton of trouble because he takes his shirt and pants off and then dives into the fountain to feel cool again.

Somehow, the Hyperion and Atlas council didn’t like that. He wonders why.

Luckily for him, Fiona – Rhys’s friend that accompanied Jack – is able to talk the councillors into so many circles that they let him free. _“Consider it a favour for Rhys,”_ he remembers her saying with a sneer on her face, and Jack didn’t let it go. Of course.

Right, Rhys—has to reply.

_‘ye. Be there in 10.’_

Rhys doesn’t text him anymore after that, and Jack drops the cigar on the floor and doesn’t even bother to stomp it out. He huddles himself into the grey coat and makes his way over to the Dust, and prepares himself for the unbearably welcome heat.

* * *

Roland barely looks at him when he arrives. The moment he catches sight of Jack, he bows his head down and leaves. He barely looks at the man as well, because that man has a severe allergic reaction to emotions and looking at him is as fun as cleaning up deflated puttis.

Better than pus-fungi pie at least and he can’t help but snicker when he remembers the very brief conversation in the library.

… Man, he really didn’t expect to hear that in _years._ God, it’s bringing back such awful memories that he can’t help but be inexplicably happy.

It is a _treat._ A **delight.** He makes his way into the small little Hodunk area, his coat hanging off his arm, and he can’t even get a word out edgewise before someone shoots him in the shoulder.

There is a stunned silence that follows the gunshot. He looks down at his shoulder. The other Hodunks look over at his shoulder. Tector Hodunk is holding the gun and is staring at Jack with wide-eyed horror.

“Right,” Jack begins, his voice strained, “so, I was _gonna_ be… what’s the – shit, that burns, the hell did you guys use? – where was I? Right, I was gonna be _diplomatic._ You know. _Talk_ this shit out.” He throws his coat aside, his back bending over a bit as his body cracks and extends with his transformation. “ ** _BUT WE’LL PLAY IT YOUR WAY.”_** Jack shrieks out with ten voices at once, anger and rage more clear in his tone, and Tector is shooting at him pointlessly.

His body is a sickening grey, like rotting _corpses,_ and his veins are purple and protruding on his skin as he slinks his way over to the Hodunks. He opens his mouth wide, unhinges his jaw, and _screams._

* * *

Jack isn’t really aware of what happens after that. The Hodunks are thrown around, all of them shooting at him and hurting him, _making him angrier,_ and Jack is running around on all fours. The tables in this restaurant of the Hodunks are all _ruined,_ some of them covered in glowing blue claw marks from Jack and he is at least conscious enough to not snap necks.

There is _a lot_ of screaming, and Jack is dragging some guy up and down the wall, angry howls escape him as he slams the person against the wall. He is an artist with their blood, but he is also making sure not to break his new brushes far too soon.

The restaurant is a mix of red and blue, and Jack’s mouth is wide open and drooling thick and copious saliva onto the ground. He has to slam his head against the wall repeatedly, having no alcohol around to calm him down, and he screams and screams as he bashes his skull.

Eventually, the pain in his head helps him revert to his human form, his nails far too blunt to leave marks on the wall, and his clothes are a torn wreck. His legs and neck are _screaming_ with a terrible ache, and Jack turns around slowly to face Tector Hodunk—

He needs that bastard alive. “I—I—I—“ the man keeps stuttering as Jack makes his way over to him, digistructing a pair of handcuffs, and Tector is just babbling as he stares at Jack. “I—I didn’t— _sir, I am—_ I am so sorry, I did not— _oh god.”_

“Shut up.” Jack hisses out with three voices, and Tector immediately shuts up and stands up, turning around so he can be cuffed from behind. “With me. Offices. Now.”

He grabs at Tector’s elbow and manhandles him towards the entrance of the restaurant and he barely glances around at all the unconscious and conscious men on their backs or stomachs.

Rhys is so not going to be happy about this.

**Author's Note:**

> [ Pillowfort. ](https://www.pillowfort.social/transistor) | [ Tumblr. ](https://transistories.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/EmptyHeartLover)
> 
> If you're interested in finding me, I am in those links up above.


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